Through the Fog
by fortunecookiegun
Summary: Jackson is nowhere to be found, until a search party is sent his way. A special someone joins in on the mission. Set after S15E25. JPOV. One-shot. For now.


Where Am I? I feel weak.

Ow. I can't move. My limbs hurt and I feel plastered down by gravity. I think that maybe I'm half-stuck in a dream and my body's just a little sore, but then I hear voices and I know that's not the case. They're urgent and desperate and a little on-edge. More importantly, they're looking for me.

_Jackson?!_

_JACKSON!_

_Jackson!_

I don't recognize these voices. They're muted and far away and I can barely open my eyes. When I manage to blink them open for a fleeting moment, I see trees and mist and dim torchlights searching about. They're dancing around the fog like spotlights at a party, defined and diffused at the same time. That's when my eyelids decide to give up and they shut themselves closed again.

This is not a dream. I feel cold and the ground beneath me is damp, rigid, and rocky. It smells like pine and soil and the watery scent of rain vapor.

I remember what happened now. I fell into a goddamn ditch. What a way to go. Should God be damned though if this was supposed to serve some purpose I don't yet fully understand? He could have at least been a little more sensitive about it.

"Jackson!"

I know that voice! Gosh, I'd know that voice anywhere.

April.

Maybe this _is_ a dream.

I open my mouth to call back to her but all that stumbles out of my mouth are grunts of pain and discomfort. Even my voice is weak. Something in my chest hurts and prevents my lungs from working like I want them to. Her voice is still so far away.

"Jackson!"

There's a tremble to the way she's calling out my name, and I can tell that she's been crying. I can always tell when she's been crying.

I want her to find me. It would be great if _anyone_ could find me really. I know that now isn't the time to be forming a preference. But I'm still wishing it's her.

I end up sighing to myself in my head over what that just meant to me._ I'm still_ _wishing it's her._

Moments pass and I'm a little used to the pain now, or maybe my nerves have just chosen to go numb. The voices aren't getting any closer and I can't hear April anymore. It bothers me a little but I know it shouldn't with all these other people here trying to help. Maybe she just took a break or went somewhere far. I have no idea how long they've been out here looking for me.

I'm trying my best to piece together the events that have led me here. I remember falling, like I did in the creek earlier today. Only this was no creek. Maybe I was being dumb trying to prove Maggie wrong. I'm not sure if she thought I ditched her with how badly we were at each other's throats. I would never do that. To anyone. Maybe she just drove off with the keys in the car. Maybe she called for the search party. I don't know. I doubt she's out here right now. I don't hear her voice and her ankle was sprained pretty badly. I hope she's alright though.

What I can't wrap my head around is April being here. I could've have sworn I heard her voice. But I don't hear it now so maybe I hit my head pretty hard and grew delusional.

I'm starting to struggle. The voices are drifting further away and I wish I could tug them closer my way. It's easy to assume the worst. It's hard to have faith and hopeful expectation. But hopeful expectation is the only thing right now that's keeping me going. It's the only thing that's keeping me from descending into a full-fledged panic attack. I'm not sure how I would have fared had I not been open to just trust it like I do now. In a way, April taught me that. So I guess, in a way, she's the one who's keeping me going.

I don't think I still have the right to say that I have her to live for. Hattie and my mom, for sure, but April isn't my wife. Not for a long time now. We're friends but not in the way we were before. I know there's still a lot of love surrounding our complicated relationship, but we seldom talk. Like _really_ talk. All in all, April is… April. And she has someone else to be there for her like that and it's not me. It's Matthew.

I end up sighing to myself again. Who was I kidding? She's not out here looking for me. She's probably playing with Harriet in their house or wrapped up in Matthew's arms watching the fog go by. And I'm here, injured mush, most likely with with a broken leg and bruises all over my body.

I'm in my head mostly. It distracts me from the pain. And then I think about something selfish. Like how April would have _loved_ to go camping with me. In another lifetime maybe. I've wasted so much time. Fuck. I wonder if she and Matthew have gone camping with the kids. I think about their life together. I think about her sleeping with him. I know I shouldn't but I do.

The voices are faded and washed out now, just like the silhouettes of trees and leaves beyond all this damn fog. I gotta try something. Anything to pull their attention to me. As much as my body begs me to stay the hell down, I force my eyes open and crunch my bones upward. I break twigs with my good arm and throw rocks as far as they'd go. I muster the best yell I can which comes off as a strangled yelp. Then I hear someone shout out but not to me.

"April! Don't go in there! It's too dangerous!" says some man I'm sure I don't know. Probably a policeman or a volunteer.

"I think I heard something," says April, her voice laden with both hope and anxiety.

"I didn't hear anything. Come on, you've been out here the longest. Maybe you should take a break," says the man who's either too clueless or too patronizing to think he could tell April she's getting fuzzy and needs a break.

"Yeah? Bite me!" she warns and I imagine her glowering face.

I can't help but smirk to myself amidst this emergent situation. That sure is April.

I'm starting to feel woozy. Shit, maybe I did hit my head pretty hard. That was my last red flare and now I'm shutting down. I feel exhausted. I'm slipping f… fast…

The momentum of my decline is interrupted by the sound of some rocks slipping around me. I hear a quiet sound of pain snag its way out of someone's throat. I have enough brain cells left to figure out that whoever came to get me hurt themselves on their way down.

"Okay," says the voice I know too well. Mixed into it were both relief and terror, but above all, composure. It's April's hands that are on me. I'd know that for sure even if I was dead. She's making top-speed assessments on my constitution. I feel her head gently press down on my chest to listen to my breathing. I can't think of anything else other than the way she used to do that every morning during a different time in our lives. I instinctually rest a hand on her shoulder, unable to stop it from doing otherwise. I hear her breath hitch and she pulls away. I use the remainder of my energy to look at her to make sure she doesn't hate me for it. My eyelids are heavy and faltering but I'm relieved to see that her face has grown triumphant. She's probably glad I'm still responsive. I can almost hear her thinking of a way to safely get me up and into a rig. "I got you," she whispers, and I allow myself to drift off knowing that all things considered, I feel safe now. The last thing I hear is the sound of her blowing a shrill whistle to signal the party over, and with that, everything goes dark and the world has closed itself around me.

* * *

I know this smell well. It's a hospital. I try to open my eyes again and my vision turns crisp with far more ease than before. This isn't Grey Sloan though. It's Seattle Pres. In hindsight, it's way closer to where I may have fallen. So far things make sense, but I still feel lost. I need to make sure that I wasn't imagining something. Thankfully, I think my voice is back. "April," I say successfully and there's some movement in my periphery to where my neck hasn't allowed me to turn yet.

"Hey," she says with a tired but joyful voice and I tilt my head gently to pull her into view.

"It was you," I say roughly. "You got me out."

"I got you out," she repeats for me with a small smile. "See, normally, I'd be pissed at you for leaving your car to venture out into the fog, but right now…" She sighs. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"How…" I don't know how to phrase this. I don't want to sound ungrateful by any means. But I can't help but wonder. "Why were you out there? I'm a little confused."

"Right, uhm…" she says, swallowing. There's a slight pause and she shakes it off with a bashful smile. "You still have me listed as your emergency contact. Maggie called for a search party and the officers informed me that you were missing."

"Oh…" I say, blinking and trying to put it together. "So you... joined in to help find me?"

"Nah," she says sarcastically. She already knows I know the answer to that. "I'm just here to lecture you on fog safety."

"Consider me lectured. What I did was pretty dumb," I say and that's when I notice that her left sleeve is pulled up and her arm is wrapped in bandages. I frown and feel guilty. Maybe even a little protective although I know the damage is done. I'm well aware that my face looks upset. "You're hurt."

"This is nothing," she says and grabs her phone to try to change the subject. I see her nod to the screen and type something in. Her thumb moves to click a button and I can only assume that she had just sent someone a text. "Alright. Maggie will be here soon. Expect a second lecture," she says, pushing the button to shut off the screen before laying her phone on the table. She widens her eyes at me like I've been a naughty child. "You deserve it."

"Uhm," I mutter, after giving off a small chuckle. "Hattie?"

"With Matthew and Ruby at home."

_Home_.

"He knows you're here?"

She looks over to the bandages on her arm and sighs. "He will soon enough. I'll call him later," she says. The look on her face tells me that she's not particularly thrilled to tell Matthew about tonight and make him worry, or have it out for me more that he already does. She's hurt because she went out to find me. I open my mouth to thank her. And apologize. But nothing I can think of seems to be enough. As if she could hear me think, she smiles with her lips closed and says, "I know. It's okay."

We spend a long moment looking at each other, silently wondering about each other's lives. I wanna catch up with her without it being weird. She's giving me this... _look_. For her, it's probably just a big fat '_You're welcome'_ or a warm _'Take care of yourself'_, but I remember this look well from when she'd say things like _'Baby I love you'_ or _'You_ _make me so happy'_. This is making me palpitate. As much as I try to cram as many _'Thank you'_s and _'I'm sorry'_s into the way I look at her, I sneak in the smallest _'I'll_ _always love you'_ for myself. I know it's too late now, and every time I remember, I retreat into my tiny closet of grief. But she seems to have found a very happy life for herself and I've already begrudgingly agreed with myself that _loving her always_ means choosing to let her thrive. With or without me.

"I better get going," she finally says, aware a little too late of just how long we've been sharing this wordless conversation.

"Okay," I say and I don't have it in me to break eye contact. The same seems to be true for her.

"I called your mom," she says, throwing out the words over her shoulder. She looks like she's in some trance. I'd pay good money to know what she's thinking.

"Sure," I say, and the way I say it sounds equally unimportant.

"Okay," she breathes.

"Thank you," is all I can say verbally right now.

"You don't need to-"

"I do," I insist. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she smiles and she takes a cue from out of nowhere to stand up and look for her handbag. "I could bring Hattie over tomorrow in case you're up for a visit."

"That'd be great," I say and I finally gain the mood to quip a joke. "You know where to find me."

Her words throw me. "I always do, it seems."


End file.
